Then there arose in mind the face of the one girl he remembered. He thought of the effect of the blow upon her. He had been her guest, her associate. The family had received him with open arms. They must share the odium of his disgrace, and for him now what course was left? Flight! To turn his back upon all the trouble and go to his old life, and let the matter die out!
And then came another thought. Could any one prove the charge?
He was in the dark; the cards were held with their backs to him. Suppose he should bring suit for libel, what could he offer? His witness had already spoken and her words substantiated the charge against him. Not a witness, not a scrap of paper, was to be had in his defense. A libel suit would be the rivet in his irons and he would face the public, perhaps for days, and be openly the subject of discussion. It was impossible, but he could fight.
The thought thrilled him to the heart. She should see that he was a man! He would not deal with slander suits, with newspapers; he would make the scoundrel eat his words or he would silence his mouth forever. The man soul was stirred; he no longer felt the humiliation that had rendered him incapable of thought. The truth of the story was not the issue; the injury was its use, false or true. He strode into Gerald's room and broke into the experiments of the scientists, already close friends.
"You have weapons here. Lend me one; the American uses the revolver, I believe?"
Gerald looked at him in astonishment, but he was interested.
"Here is one; can you shoot?"
"Badly; the small sword is my weapon."
"Then let me teach you." Gerald was a boy now; weapons had been his hobby years before.
"Wait, let me fix a target!" He brushed a chalk drawing from a blackboard at the end of the room and stood, crayon in hand. "What would you prefer to shoot at, a tree, a figure——"